(Untitled)

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Asterisks = Author's Favorites. Brackets: Genre

Titles in Alphabetical Order:

*12 Billion Eyes [Drama]
A Realistic Fighting Cartoon [Prose, Experimental]
Ad Council [Humor]
The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes and the Pillsbury Dough Boy [Humor]
*Alight Romance [Romance]
All You Wanted Was a Cookie. [Humor]
Alone Again [TO COME LATER]
Another Misguided Lamb [Humor]
AT&T VS. TMOBILE [Humor, Fanfic?]
*Blood Trails [Humor, Drama]
Brandchael [Humor]
Bunny Cafe [Humor, Murder Mystery]
The Bus is Late [Humor]
Chunks (It's About a Lesbian That Eats Her Own Vomit) [Humor]
*Cookie Clicker: The Movie [Humor, Script]
The Corner of Carl's Jr. [Humor]
Crab People [Humor]
Ephemeral [TO COME LATER]
*Fladeboe [Xkybo]
The Hash-Slinging Slasher [Horror]
*Hi [Horror]
Himchan Miracle Story [Humor]
Hotel Apocalypse [Humor]
I Gotta Feeling [Humor]
Joker&Bane: Friends4lyfe [Humor, Fanfic]
Mecha-Hitler 2.0: The Infinity Reich [Humor, Sci-Fi]
Megan's Adventure [Humor]
Mint Chocolate Sushi [Humor]
Mushroom Soup [Horror]
*Naruto [Humor, Fanfic]
Only You Can Prevent Wildfires [Humor]
*Oscar [Humor]
Paper Trails [TO COME LATER]
*Samuri the Last [Humor]
Story Title [Humor]
Superman Loves the Sun [Humor]
Tales from the Mushroom Forest
Unrecognizable [Humor]
*The Wonderful World of Wombats [Humor, Informational]
Author's Note






12 Billion Eyes

Applause. The boy on the stage bowed, illuminated by the spotlight. He walked away from the podium and back to the chairs, having just given an impeccable speech. Somewhere, in the anonymous sea of the audience sat a boy named Harry, whose heart was beating at light speed.

Soon, a middle-aged woman stepped to the podium. "What a wonderful speech from one of Giltown's very own. Up next, we have a relatively new name to our city's annual public speaking competition." Harry's blood froze. "Also another local, tonight he has prepared for us a powerful speech about life and relationships." Harry knew he was next. The words of the speech ran through his mind. "Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Harry Carthage!"

Applause. Applause, muffled to insignificance by the deafening thumps of his fast-beating heart. Harry was petrified. He didn't move until his dad nudged him to get up.

Harry stood up and approached the stage. Step by step by step, the applause got quieter and quieter and the stage closer and closer until finally he stood behind the podium, blinded by the spotlight and carefully watched by the massive, anonymous crowd.

Harry had read that the maximum occupancy for the building was 300 people. But it felt like there were six billion crammed into this tiny, suburban auditorium. It felt like 12 billion eyes stated right at him, judging his every move.

His vision blurred from the sweat droplets pouring from his forehead. Though his blood was surging through his veins it felt as if none of the blood reached his brain, which drew a blank as Harry tried to remember his speech.

He swallowed. He took a deep breath.





A Realistic Fighting Cartoon

"Someone sent us another commission."

"Another one? How much are they paying?"

"100 bucks."

"Woah, heck yeah! What do they want?"

"Uh... they said they want a... 'realistic fighting cartoon."

"Okay, that doesn't seem so bad. Anything else?"

"That's... that's all they put. 100 bucks, they want a realistic fighting cartoon."

"Well, okay, I guess... 'Realistic' fighting cartoon?"

"Yeah."

"Like... like Dragonball Z?"

"I don't think so. With all that chi stuff and the dragons and the balls, it doesn't seem so realistic."

"Well then what does he want?!"

"I don't know, why do you expect me to know the answer?!"

"I DON'T, I'm just ASKING! DAMN IT."

"STOP YELLING."

"I'M NOT YELLING, I'M PAINTING A GODDAMN REALISTIC FIGHTING CARTOON. YOU'RE THE ONE THAT'S YELLING."

"NO, YOU'RE NOT PAINTING ANYTHING. YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT A REALISTIC FIGHTING CARTOON EVEN LOOKS LIKE."

"WELL DO YOU?"

"NO, BUT-"

"THEN HOW DO YOU KNOW I'M NOT PAINTING A REALISTIC FIGHTING CARTOON WHEN YOU-"

"I KNOW WHAT IT SURE AS HELL AIN'T, THAT'S HOW I KNOW YOU'RE NOT PAINTING-"

"OH, YOU WANNA DO BETTER THAN ME? FIFTEEN YEARS OF THIS AND YOU THINK YOU CAN DO BETTER THAN ME"
"HECK YEAH, I CAN."
"GO AHEAD THEN, PAINT A REALISTIC FIGHTING CARTOON."
"I WILL."
"GOOD."

"FINE."


"Yeah."



"...You don't have any clue either, huh?"

"Nope."





Ad Council

"Settle down, everyone," Mr. Cavendish called and the side conversations in the conference room quieted down. He placed a few sheets of paper on the mahogany conference desk and sat down on a large black leather chair at one end of the table.

Mr. Cavendish cleared his throat. "I'll cut straight to the point. Profits are way down this month." He motioned his hand to a man on the right side of the table. "Mr. Shimm here suggests that it's because consumers are losing interest in bottled oxygen. So, we need to spice up our ad campaign to attract new buyers. Any ideas?" Mr. Cavendish looked around the conference desk. No one raised their hand.

"So you're saying..." Brandon started. The rest of the company staff inhaled, anticipating him to say something stupid. "That profits are at an all time blow?"

The company groaned. Mr. Cavendish cleared his throat. "Brandon, if you have no genuine ideas on how to improve our current financial situation, I suggest you keep your mouth shut."

Brandon grinned a toothy grin. "Are you sure thair's no other alternative?"

The company groaned even louder. Mr. Vanthross, the company's oldest employee, actually felt physical pain from hearing that pun and had a minor heart attack. "Brandon, I knew I shouldn't have hired you," Mr. Cavendish started. "You cause nothing but trouble here at Bottled Oxygen Industries. So I'm gonna do something I should've done a long time ago."

Mr. Cavendish stood up. "Get your things. You're fired."

Brandon's eyes shot wide open. "Are... are you serious?"

"Yes."

Brandon couldn't believe it. "...No... no, you don't understand, Mr. Cavendish, I need this job. I have to support my entire family by myself, I can't afford to start from scratch now!"

"Well, then you should've thought about that before you threw away your career with your puns," Cavendish replied coldly. "Now go. Get out."

"No, Mr. Cavendish, I'm begging you! I need this money, I'll fix myself! Breeze!"

Cavendish froze. "Did... did you just..?" And Brandon stood up, grinned his toothy grin, and danced out the door.

Later, Brandon's body was found floating in a remote river, with a bullet in his head.





The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes and the Pillsbury Dough Boy

"So, Mr. Smith..." Sherlock started, pacing around the man sitting on a chair, who stared up at him. "Where were you on the night of Dalton White's death?" On Sherlock's shoulder stood a small white child made out of pastry dough. It wore a tiny chef hat on its head.

"I already told you, Holmes," he started, "I was at the pub, with Paxton and the other boys. Now get off my back and let me get to work!"

"Oh really, now?" Holmed retorted, "Because we asked Paxton the same question and he said he was at home, with his wife."

"Hmm-hmm!" the Pillsbury Doughboy giggled.

"Yes, indeed, Mr. Smith," Holmes started, "It seems your alibi is falling apart by the second." Mr. Smith stared at Holmes, unfaltering. Sweat dripped from his brow.

"So..." Holmes leaned towards Mr. Smith. Their faces were inches apart. "Wanna tell me where you really were when Dalton died?

Smack! Mr. Smith landed a solid right hook on Holmes' cheek and sprinted towards the door! Holes quickly recuperated.

"He's getting away! Get him, Poppin' Fresh!" Holmes picked up the Pillsbury Doughboy on his shoulder and threw him at the fleeing Mr. Smith. With a loud squelching noise, the Pillsbury Doughboy stuck to the back of Mr. Smith's neck.

"Hmm-hmm!" The Pillsbury Doughboy giggled happily as he pulled out a tiny dagger from within the inside of his soft, squishy, uncooked doughy body. In one smooth motion, he slashed the inch-long blade through Mr. Smith's jugular, causing blood to spray violently in all directions. Red mist painted the Pillsbury Doughboy's body a rose pink color, and Mr. Smith's eyes widened with the realization that he was about to pay for the murder of Dalton. More importantly, his death would mark the Pillsbury Doughboy's 40th confirmed kill.

It wasn't long before Mr. Smith fell to the ground, dead from blood loss. Almost ritualistically, the Pillsbury Doughboy dipped his knob-like hands into the gash and wiped blood below his eyes, like warpaint.

Holmes walked to the gruesome scene. "You did good, Poppin' Fresh. Real good." He poked the Pillsbury Doughboy in the stomach.

"Hmm-hmm!" The Pillsbury Doughboy giggled.





Alight Romance

The first thing I noticed was that it was cold out. And I mean really cold. Felt like 20 below zero, that's how cold it was. But I was only wearing shorts and a t shirt, so that might explain why I was shivering. I wasn't nervous, I'd done stuff like this a thousand times before. No biggie. But because I was shivering so much, it took me a second or two longer to strike a match.

Speaking of matches, they're the second thing. My matches weren't in the place they usually were. Left pocket, that's where I usually put them, but today they were in my right. Kind of panicked for awhile because after taking the time to pour all that gasoline on the house, I thought I wouldn't be able to burn it down. Took me a few seconds longer to get the fire going, which, looking back, was probably a good thing.

I'll get to the third thing later. So anyway, found my matches, lit one, and tossed it at the wall of the house. The fire spread kinda slowly, the house didn't go up in flames in like half a second. Probably because I didn't use enough gas. Lucky me, right? If it weren't for these tiny seconds that delayed what usually would've been a quick job... I'd probably still be burning down houses for hire. Or dead. Maybe the cops would've caught me, I don't know.

Anyway, the job took probably fifteen, twenty seconds longer than usual and just my luck, in those twenty seconds, a person in the house managed to escape. Crawled through a second story window and landed in a big old rosebush. I ran up to her and was a split second away from killing her right then and there.

But then I saw her face. Well, not really her face, just her... everything. God, she looked so... cute. Her hair in a mess, pajamas with a few ashes and burn marks on them. She sat on her rosebush throne, out of breath, scared and I knew... I knew.





All You Wanted Was a Cookie

Snap! The mousetrap went off, snapping the white mouse's neck instantly.

"Gotcha, you stupid son of a doe!" Wesley screamed at the mouse's corpse, triumphant. "That'll teach you to mess with my Milano cookies!"

Wesley picked up the mousetrap and pulled back the metal bar, releasing the mouse from the trap. He was about to throw away the mouse when he noticed that the mouse held something in his right hand. Wesley took a closer look.

"A... a folded piece of paper?" He brought it closer to his eye. There seemed to be markings on it, but they were too small for his eyes to read. He ran to his room and rummaged through his closet until he eventually found his magnifying glass, which he held above the piece of paper.

It looked like a map to Wesley's kitchen, with a red circle around where the cookie jar should be. Connected to the red circle was a red line. From the cookie jar, he followed the red line, which led to a small hole in the wall next to his kitchen counter, just wide enough for Wesley to peer inside of it, which he did. And what he saw surprised him.

Inside was a small room, lit with a single white LED attached crudely to its ceiling. The room had some makeshift furniture, including a bed made out of a matchbox and a table made from a plastic pizza saver. Wesley also noticed another note just outside the room's entrance. He read it.

"giant: sorry i eat white-brown crispy bread. hungry and my favorite. it hard kill spiders for you. please give crispy bread. thank you - Jery"

And immediately, Wesley felt awful. All Jery wanted was a cookie and now he was dead. Wesley had been helping him out with his spider problem and what did he do in return? He killed him. He killed him. Wesley broke down and started crying. He hugged Jery's corpse and repeated "I'm sorry, I'm sorry" over and over again as if saying it enough times might bring him back to life.

Afterwards, Wesley threw Jery's body in the trash. He managed to pawn off the LED in Jery's room, which he took with a pair of tweezers before he had the drywall replaced in Jery's room. Wesley ate a few Milano cookies, feeling victorious.





Alone Again

Kayla REALLY wanted to write this story since she had a good idea for it, so I'll reserve it for a future full-length post and give her some time to write it. Sorry, whoever sent in this title, but complain to Kayla!]





Another Misguided Lamb

"Alright, you god damn cattle!" Sergeant Squat barked at the line of subjects in front of him. He paced back and forth, trampling the grass at his feet and creating a path of flat grass where he walked. "Last week we weren't so hot in our competition against Crips Ranch! We gotta STEP UP OUR GAME, DAMN IT."

Sergeant Squat was very angry. The rest of his flock stood with their heads down, looking at the ground in shame.

"Bighorn, you gotta march in line!" Bighorn swallowed his pride and avoided eye contact with Segreant Squat. "Aries, you gotta listen to commands!" Aries felt baaad.

Sergeant Squat stopped pacing in front of one of his flock members. "But ewe... you're the worst."

Bo Peep, the tiniest of the bunch, looked up to see Sergeant Squat towering over her. Bo Peep immediately felt ashamed.

"You think this is a god damn game? Some social media graze that you can just brush off and ignore?" Sergeant Squat scolded Bo Peep. "Well news flash to ewe: IT'S NOT. Now get your god damn act together or so help me god, I will end you. Because you know what ewe are? You're nothing but ovis. ALL OF YOU." He was now shouting to the entire flock. "DIRTY STINKING OVIS. Now LAMB UP and SHEEP UP."

The sheep gave out a baa and followed Sergeant Squat, the herding dog.





AT&T VS. TMOBILE

"Sir!" A voice called out in a vast sea of cubicles. AT&T CEO Randall Stephenson stood up from his throne overlooking his ATTerritory and snapped his fingers. On that command, four employees ran out of their cubicles, picked up Lord Stephenson, and carried him to the distress call.

"What is it, employee 26301 dash A?" Lord Stephenson commanded his lifters to put him down.

"The system seems to be compromised," the employee started, "A fiberworm has burrowed its way through our firewall."

"Then destroy it! What are you waiting for?!"

"I can't, I don't have admin permissions!" The employee screamed, desperate. "But I found its digital signature. Looks like it's from... T-Mobile."

Lord Stephenson gasped. "The bastards... send a counterattack!"

"Yes, sir."



Fwoop! Fwoop! Fwoop! A blaring siren ran through the lands of the T-Mobilempire. Immediately, Tsar Legere burst out of his grand chamber. "Status report!" He barked at the ocean of workers typing away before him.

"Code Gauss! Code Gauss!" An employee screamed back. "Dear god," Tsar Legere paced atop his pedestal. "Identify its source immediately!"

The seemingly infinite room filled with the clicks and claks of fingers slamming against keyboards. Like worker bees buzzing in a hive, the employees focused all of their efforts on fixing the Code Gauss.

"Found it!" An employee raised his hand. The others paused briefly to hear his information and the room became eerily quiet. "Whitacre Tower, Dallas!"

Tsar Legere pounded his fist into a wooden table. "AT&Terrorists! Activate the Pandora Function!"

"But sir!" An employee protested, "It's still a prototype! There might be problems with containment, we need more testing!"

Tsar Legere pulled out a handheld button from his inner jacket pocket. "Then consider this a new experimental trial."

He pushed the button.





Blood Trails

Justin exhaled. The cold mountain air nipped at his nose.

"Dude, your first day and you're already doing blue square courses!" Joseph said.

"Yeah, well it's not that hard. It's kind of like land-skiing, so of course I'd be good at it." Justin rubbed the tip of his nose.

"Oh, using rental skiis and you're a pro already, huh?" Joseph laughed. "Well, I guess that means you'd be ready for the double black diamond courses?"

"Hell yeah, I wou-" "Wait!" Joseph interrupted Justin. "I got the perfect test! Let's try..." Joseph looked around the ski resort. Everyone seemed to be ignoring them and continuing on with their own routines.

"Let's try the Blood Trails," Joseph whispered.

And immediately, the ski resort came to a dead silence. A coffee cup, mid-transaction between the waitress and the customer, fell to the ground and shattered. Even the wind stopped howling momentarily, as if gasping at the fact that the notorious Blood Trails will once again be ridden.

All of the ski resort's eyes were on Joseph and Justin. The two noticed that they were the center of the world, and froze like the ice around them. Soon, an old man approached them. His skin looked calloused, and his eyes looked worn with the horrors and spectacles of the mountain. He had the look of a hardened snow dog, and had the white beard, yellow raincoat, and yellow hat to match it.

He stood two feet in front of Joseph and Justin. "In my 40 years living in this neck of the woods, only one person's gone down Blood Trails and survived," the old man started. His voice was deep and raspy, and had an air of authority. Despite his obvious age, he was still very much intimidating. "Rest of them are all mangled skeletons on the mountain. All of them. Left to rot."

Justin and Joseph looked at each other, confused. "Uh... okay." They started to walk around the old man and towards the ski lift when suddenly, the old man grabbed their shoulders.

"Heed the advice from an old, old dog," the old man said. "Don't take anything to the Blood Trails that you aren't willing to lose. That includes your lives."

The old man released their shoulders and walked away, into the forest. Justin and Joseph paused momentarily, then continued to the slopes.





Brandchael

A bolt of lightning struck the Earth and for a split second, shot light through Christina's castle windows and illuminated the inside of the laboratory. Christina's eyes had grown accustomed to the darkness after months and months of scientific research, cadaver dissections, and watching anime on a dusty old iPhone.

Before her lay the bodies of Michael and Brandon, each on their own separate mechanized tables, with a thousand wires connecting parts of their heads and their hearts to other scientific equipment that hung in the walls.

Christina cackled, "The preparations are complete! I shall take the incredible intelligence and raw sex appeal of Michael and combine it with Brandon's longevity and docility!" she shrieked, her voice raspy and croaky, like a hideous toad whose throat was cut up by sandpaper. After years of mindless research and going to B.A.P. concerts, she had actually started to look like a hideous toad herself, which, although isn't much of a transformation, is still a notable change.

Another bolt of lightning struck. She took the bolt's landing as an opportunity to laugh manically for dramatic effect.

"And now... LIFE!" Christina flipped a switch and the two platforms holding the bodies rose up to the roof of the castle. Before long, a bolt of lightning sent electricity running through both corpses and an explosion of light saturated the walls of the castle with a blinding white light.

Christina laughed evilly, but quickly started gasping for air. She pulled out her inhaler, then pounded her fist into her own chest to kick start her diabetic heart back to life. She hit a bright red button on a control panel in front of her labeled with the words "BEGIN FUSION." Above her, the two corpses suddenly became sandwiched between their metal platforms. Millions of watts of electricity ran through both cadavers as Christina snorted like a boar.

She pressed another button and slowly, the two platforms descended. Both were pressed right against each other, with less than an inch of space between the two plates of metal. Steam hissed out of an engine as the platforms came to a stop right in front of her.

"Finally, let's see the fruit of my decades of scientific research!"

She pressed another button and the two platforms separated! She roared with asthmatic laughter...

...And immediately, a look of sheer horror appeared on her face. Before her stood an abomination.

The two bodies had physically fused together, creating a disgusting, gelatinous blob of melted human flesh. It had four arms which flailed and flapped chaotically and none of them were on the Brandchael's arm stumps. Two were on its back, if you could even call the hunk of melted flab on the opposite side of the beast's face a back. One was on its stomach, where its bellybutton should be. Its last arm was attached to the thigh of one of its three legs, which gave the monster an appearance of a tripod with a tumorous growth on one leg. Its belly was massive and gave the behemoth a triangular shape.

The demonic horror had no neck. Instead it had Brandon's head, fused to the top of its body from the chin down, which forced the beast to turn its entire body when Brandon wanted to consume the soul of another living thing. The back of Michael's head was fused to the back of Brandon's, similar to how Voldemort's face was placed in the back of Quirrell's. Brandon's mouth gaped wide open and a river of drool flowed down from its mouth. Meanwhile, Michael kept saying "I swear" over and over again, mindlessly, his brain obviously fused with Brandon's.

Christina stared in utter terror. But slowly, a smile appeared on her face. She rubbed her hands together, plotting something horrible. Then, the words seeped out of her mouth.

"Now to make them kiss."





Bunny Cafe

"Everyone calm down!" Adam hollered over the panic of the Bunny Cafe patrons.

"IT'S A DEAD BUNNY!" A patron sobbed.

"LOOK AT ALL THE BLOOD!" Another patron exclaimed.

"QUIET!" Adam snapped. Immediately, everyone in the cafe fell silent. Adam exhaled, collected his thoughts, then proceeded. "Now, since prior to the electricity going out, nobody heard the creaky doors open, obviously the bunny murderer is still in this very room. Therefore, nobody leaves the cafe until this mystery is solved or the police arrive. Agreed?" The guests nodded in approval.

Adam knelt over the dead bunny. "Poor Peanut." He closed the rabbit's eyelids, then observed its body more closely.

Beside its corpse lay a large white feather, dyed red on its edges from the pool of rabbit's blood. The blood splatter's shape suggested that the rabbit was either karate chopped into the ground or drop kicked into the ceiling and spiked like a volleyball. Adam wasn't sure which.

Adam turned to the crowd of seven in the room and paused. "Now. As I've stated before, one of us has to be the murderer here. If you confess now, your punishment will be light. But know this: You made this case personal by killing Peanut, of all bunnies. So I will find out who you are. And when I do, you're gonna be wishing for a fate like Peanut's by the time I'm done with you." The seven others watching him nodded nervously.

One by one, Adam walked in front of each of the suspects. Mr. Miyagi, the cafe owner, shook his head at the tragic events. Ms. Ishii and Ms. Nguyen, the two rabbit caretakers, both sobbed. Frank, Alex, and Phil, the three most frequent patrons of the cafe, all looked at the ground, sad.

Finally, Adam walked in front of Gororod, Olympic gold medalist for men's volleyball singles and record holder for most Pop-Tarts bisected with a single karate chop. He wore a large fur coat and a wide-brimmed had with a magnificent white-feathered plume on it.

Gororod's eyes nervously shifted between Adam and a point on the ceiling. He was sweating profusely, and his fur coat stopped looking puffy and started looking like he was wearing a coat made of wet doghide.

"Gororod... did you kill Pea-"

"NO." Gororod immediately replied in a deep, raspy voice. His body shivered and his eyes darted around the room. Gororod started panting.

Adam sighed. "Gororod... tell the truth." Gororod was 45 years old.

"N... n... GOROROD SORRY!" Gororod fell to the ground and started sobbing.

"Gororod, you can't do that anymore," Adam said in a stern, parental voice, "That's the 46th one this week. You have to stop, Gororod. Bad Gororod."

Gororod nodded, sniffling.





The Bus is Late

Tommy sat on the corner of Emerald Grove Road and 52nd Street, waiting for the bright yellow bus that would take him away from the comfort of his own home and bring him to the first day of school. It was the first Monday of September, and after a long night of doing homework, Tommy stood on the street corner, wobbling from lack of sleep, eyes half open, brain half awake. Every time he blinked, he fell asleep for ten seconds or until his head leaned forward fast enough and he jolted awake to regain his balance, only to blink again and start the loop all over.

After three of these hypnic jerks, Tommy quickly shook his head to try and shake away the drowsiness. He rubbed his eyes.

"Rrrrrrrrrgh, I don't wanna deal with people," he muttered to himself. He looked at his watch. 6:30 AM. He sighed. Tommy lived quite a distance from his high school. So even though class started at 7:30, he had to wake up at 5 AM just to catch the bus.

He yawned. The three months of doing nothing made him forget about the meaning of time or the days of the week. Up until today, every day was Saturday night for Tommy, even if it was a Wednesday afternoon, or a Sunday dawn. His lack of the concept of time made him forget that the bus was 30 minutes late from its typical six o' clock arrival. Or perhaps it wasn't forgetfulness, it was mental exhaustion. Tommy had read a 500 page book, written a five page analytic essay, and outlined six chapters all last night, after all.

Tommy continued nodding off while waiting for another 30 minutes. Then another. By the time he checked his watch again, it was 8:30 AM.

His mind jolted awake. "Oh crap," he rationalized. "I must've been asleep while the bus passed! OH GOD, I'M LATE FOR SCHOOL!" Tommy started sprinting to school, on the first Monday of September.

While the rest of his classmates slept peacefully in their beds.

Chunks (It's About a Lesbian That Eats Her Own Vomit)

It was just another normal day for Helga Humperdink. Just like every other day, she walked down the street, thinking about things. She thought about what she was gonna buy at the market, what she thought about the new episode of her favorite TV show, and especially how much she liked kissing women. Yep. Just another normal day.

Only it wasn't. Because soon, Helga started feeling a rumbling in her belly. A bad rumbling. Like "I-just-ate-six-month-old-expired-sushi" bad. Which she unknowingly did, since her favorite sushi place hasn't had a health inspection in months.

"Uhhhhhgggg" she groaned as she clutched her stomach. She gradually stopped walking. A wave of nausea overwhelmed her and before she knew it, she started throwing up on the ground, much to the horror of everyone around her.

"BARRRGHHGGGHBPTHHHHH," she screamed as she upchucked half-digested sushi from her stomach onto the sidewalk, dying it a murky green color.

After five minutes of nonstop regurgitation, she finished, surrounded in a moat of raw fish and rice. She wiped her mouth and looked at the people around her. Most were mortified. A few fainted from the sheer psychological trauma.

Suddenly, her stomach rumbled. She was suddenly starving again. She checked her bag for food. Nothing.

Her stomach let out a sound akin to a grizzly bear roaring as it gets neutered. She literally could not move out of the cesspit of stomach acid around her because of lack of energy. She wasn't starving anymore, she was on the edge of dying. She had to eat. She had to.

She looked at the sushi at her feet. She swore she saw one chunk still flopping, as if it were still alive.

She collapsed to her knees from malnutrition.

And she ate her own vomit.





Cookie Clicker: The Movie 

(psst: Click the pictures for the larger versions if it's hard to read!)

The Corner of Carl's Jr.

Khai walked over to our table holding a glass of water. He glanced to his right, gasped, then sat down.

"Guys guys!" Khai whispered. His excitement made him bounce like a piece of jello hit with an uppercut.

"What what?!" We whispered, mocking him. Khai leaned close. "There are some super hot girls sitting in the corner table," he whispered.

Immediately, Matthew shot up from his seat and tried to stare right at the corner table but Ivan, Khai, and I pulled him down, fearing that he would blow our covers.

"Idiot!" I said. "In situations like these, we have to be delicate. Observe, kids." I grabbed a napkin from the table and stood up. I walked to the trash can right beside the girls' tables and threw the napkin away, catching a quick glance of the two before I returned to the table.

"So?" Khai asked. I nodded and smiled, in agreement. Matt does the same strategy as me, but Ivan has other plans.

"I'm gonna go grab a drink of water." He winked at us, then stood up. I wondered what his plan was, since the free water was in the exact opposite direction as the girls.

The three of us watched as Ivan walked to the water cooler. He grabbed a cup, poured water, and indiscreetly turned his neck completely. He stared at the girls for a solid six seconds before he walked back to the table.

Immediately, Ivan knew he messed up when he heard how hard we were laughing from across the restaurant. Soon after Ivan left for water, the girls left.





Crab People

Oh no. Oh no oh no oh no, Frank thought. She's walking toward me. Robyn Taylors, the single most attractive girl in the entire high school, is walking towards me.

Frank's heart rate beat a mile a minute as Robyn sauntered towards him, swaying her hips in her sassy way, her high heels clicking on the park's cement path.

Ohgodohgod, gotta be cool, gotta be COOL. Calm down, Frank, you stud. You got this.

He took a deep breath. He made sure his collar was folded properly and his shirt was tucked in. Or was it out? In? Frank wasn't sure, so for good measure, he tucked half of his shirt in and half of it sticking out. Then, Frank turned his face to look at her.

"What's shakin', Robyn?" He said. Nailed it.

Robyn sat down on the bench beside him, curled her lower lip, and exhaled, blowing a lock of red hair away from her forehead. "Not much. My dirtbag boyfriend just dumped me." Jackpot.

"Well," Frank turned. He leaned on his right arm and crossed his legs. "You deserve better anyway, baby." Oh man, I'm on FIRE

"Thanks," Robyn said nonchalantly. She sat there with a frown, playing with the curls on her forehead, tapping her feet to the rhythm of a song playing in her mental jukebox. Frank sat there awkwardly, looking at Robyn, not knowing what to do.

Silence. Awkward silence. Birds hushed and the wind sat still and the conversation froze and so did Frank's mind, who was no longer capable of coming up with any clever conversation lines.

Shoot, this is bad, Frank thought. Gotta do something to end the silence, else she'll leave and never talk to me again! And suddenly, he had a grand idea. An idea his friend told him to do to break the awkwardness of any situation.

He stared at her, eyelids stretched as far open as they can go, making sure that Robyn could see the red veins lining his eyeball. Then, he muttered two words underneath his breath.

"Cr..."

"What?" Robyn stopped tapping her feet and looked at Frank.

"Cr...cr..." He said louder. His eyes shook and were begging Frank to blink, but he wouldn't. If he did, then Robyn would leave.

"Stop, you're creeping me out," Robyn complained. But Frank just kept on staring. "What are you even saying?"

"Craaaaab... people," Frank finally uttered. And the cycle began.

"What?" Robyn felt simultaneously confused and horrified. Frank's eyes gave him the look of an anime character.

"CRAAAAAAAB PEOPLE, CRAAAAAAAB PEOPLE," Frank started shouting. He stood up and stared directly in front of him, at an invisible point far in the distance above Robyn's head.

"S...stop!" Robyn screamed. She stood up as well. "You're freaking me out!"

"TASTE LIKE CRAB, TALK LIKE PEOPLE," Frank chanted as he stepped closer and closer to Robyn, who stumbled and fell backwards on her back.

"NO, PLEASE, LEAVE ME ALONE!" Robyn kicked Frank repeatedly, but it was no use. Frank was possessed by the omniscient essence of the Crab Czar, and he was desensitized from all feelings and emotions.

"CRAAAAAAAAAB PEOPLE, CRAAAAAAAAAAAB PEOPLE," Frank repeated even louder. Robyn at this point was completely engulfed in fear, and ran away.

But it didn't matter to Frank that he blew the only chance he had with Robyn. Because he was part of the glorious Crab People race now.





Ephemeral

[TO COME LATER. Whoever submitted this title, I really like it, so I'll probably be writing a full-length story for it as a separate blog entry. Sorry if you have to wait a little longer, but it is an AWESOME title, so feel proud of that!]





Fladeboe

"Bx qdeh fladebo, D ohjkdoh ubko feedepfwih!" pxh epklhwp sbqhl fp pxh ghhp bg Ydixfht, qxb efp fpbc xde phrpsbbn pxobwh.

"Echfn jkdintu, ybopft. Lb wbp qfeph yu pdyh," pxh ftydzxpu Ydixfht obfohl. Xh epokin pxh hfopx qdpx xde zbtlhw eihcpoh fwl pxh epklhwp jkdahohl fp Ydixfht'e fkpxbodpu.

"D... D whhl xhtc qdpx xbyhqbon. Echidgdifttu, wkysho 29." Pxh epklhwp sodhgtu yflh huh ibwpfip qdpx Ydixfht shgboh ohftdmdwz pxh zofadpu bg xde hoobo fwl sbqhl hahw lhhcho pb pou fwl ibychwefph gbo xde gbbtdexwhee.

"GBBT!" Ydixfht sbbyhl fwl tdzxpwdwz epokin xde ydzxpu pxobwh, fe dg pxh zble pbb qhoh bkpofzhl fp pxde epklhwp. "LB WBP FEEKYH D YHYBODMH HAHOU COBSTHY BW XBYHQBON. Dg ubk haho lfoh pb yfnh ekix f zofah hoobo fzfdw, pxh Cfopxhwbw bg Fladeboe qdtt wb tbwzho ibwedlho ubko ohjkhepe gbo fdl."

"D fcbtbzdmh," pxh epklhwp ohctdhl, "Gbozdah yh, bx zohfp bwhe. Cthfeh, ebtah edw(pfw^1(12/13))."

Ydixfht edzxhl. "Gdwh, gdwh."

Fwl eb, pxh qdeh Ydixfht zfah pxh epklhwp f ephc-su-ephc ebtkpdbw bg pxh cobsthy. Fwl yfwu f lfu qhwp su tdnh pxde, dw pxh zohfp Cfopxhwbw bg Fladeboe.





The Hash-Slinging Slasher

Thomas turned the television off. "Psh," he said to himself, "The Hash-Slinging Slasher isn't real. It's just a cartoon." He laughed a nervous laugh.

Beep beep beep. He looked at his watch. "Tuesday, 10:45," he said, "Better get ready to sleep." Thomas yawned, then walked out of his bedroom and into the bathroom on the other side of his house's hallway. He hummed a happy little tune while he put toothpaste on his toothbrush and started brushing his teeth.

Click. Suddenly, the lights in his bathroom went out. Thomas jumped in surprise and stabbed the inside of his left cheek with his toothbrush. He looked up at the darkness, but couldn't see anything.

Click. The lights turned back on. Click click. They flashed on and off, on and off.

Thomas looked at himself at the mirror, foaming at the mouth from toothpaste. He spat, then chuckled nervously. "M... must be some... faulty circuits! Dad's gotta do a check on those, I swear!" The lights kept flickering and Thomas took two minutes longer to clean his toothbrush because of how much his hands shook from nervousness.

Click click. He burst through the door of his bathroom, trying his best to avoid looking at the dark living room to his right. He ran straight to his bedroom, closed the door, turned on his bedside lamp, and dove into bed, throwing the covers carelessly over his head.

"Go to sleep, go to sleep, go to sleep," Thomas told himself, "If you sleep, the Hash-Slinging Slasher won't get you. It won't get you..." He exhaled.

Ring ring. Thomas' eyes shot open. His cell phone was ringing.

He sat up. He grabbed the black cellphone sitting on his nightstand. "No caller ID..." Thomas' heart was beating at a million miles an hour. He hit a button on the phone and brought the phone to his ear.

"Hello?" He asked. His voice shook. Click. Beeeeeeep. Whoever was on the other end of the line had hung up.

"Heheh... wrong number?" Thomas tried to comfort himself, but deep down, he knew. Tonight, he was gonna die.

Screeeeeeeeeech. He froze. Outside his house...

He heard tires skidding to a halt. Then a hiss. As if bus doors had opened.

"Oh god..." Thomas whimpered. Shivering, he grabbed a wooden baseball bat in his closet to try and defend himself.

THUD THUD THUD. Thomas leapt into the air. Someone was pounding on his door. He was about ready to cry.

THUD THUD THUD. They pounded on the door again. "PLEASE! NO!" Thomas screamed, but it was no use. THUD THUD THUD, the thudding continued.

"THIS ISN'T REAL! THIS ISNTHUD'T THUDREAL THUD! THIS THUD ISN'THUDT RETHUDAL!"

THUD THUD THUD.

"THIS ISN'T REAL!"

On August 22, 2012, Thomas D. Evans, nine years old, was found murdered in his own home. His body was found with multiple lacerations around his throat, wrists, and face. There were signs of a struggle, but it was clear that the subduer quickly overpowered the boy. Thomas' parents, who were celebrating their 13-year anniversary at the time, thanks the public for their sympathies, but ask that the media leave them alone for some time so that they may grieve in privacy.

No suspects have been named, and the murderer remains at large.





Hi

Type. Type type type type. The only sound I would hear for months at a time were the clicks of my keyboard and whatever monotone speech came out of my speakers that I had to transcribe into text on that particular day. Type type type.

The speeches were seldom interesting. Most were about worker motivation, or profit margins, so I learned to do the entire process thoughtlessly. Just type type type as words words words came out of their mouths mouths mouths.

I lived alone, unsurprisingly. I never left the house except for when I had to buy things like food, or soap. I had no need for friends. Being a work-at-home audio typist didn't exactly set up many social opportunities for me. It wasn't the most interesting job in the world, but it was easy, and it paid well, so I can't complain.

It was monotonous, though. The same thing, day in, day out. But given the recent events that have happened to me, I would kill to have that monotony back.

Let me start from the beginning.

I can't remember what the speech I was transcribing was about. If it wasn't the start of everything, it wouldn't have been particularly noteworthy. Just another woman talking. Talking.

So when a deep voice said "hi" in the middle of the speech, it startled me. I'm typically used to the occasional cough from the recording's audience, or even the rare prankster who decides to blow into the mic to try and scare me unexpectedly. But this voice, that said this one word... it sent shivers down my spine. Not because it was unnaturally deep, or particularly loud, or even out of place, even though it was all three of these things. No. It scared me because it didn't sound like it came from my headphones.

It sounded like it came from behind me.

Of course, I looked behind me and found no one. I expected no less, especially since I lived alone. Nevertheless, I was creeped out, and the goosebumps in my skin would not go away. Even though there was no one else here, I felt as if I was being watched.

I shook the feeling off and continued typing.

A few days later, the same voice. The same word. This time, in the middle of a political speech. The senator had just paused. And in the middle of the silence in the recording, I heard it again.

"Hi."

It might as well have been a cold, dead fingertip running up my back. I froze, and my skin shuddered. It sounded like it was closer.

I tried ignoring it. I tried looking at the words on my screen. I tried going back to work, but I just couldn't. I couldn't. I turned around.

And I saw nothing.

But I could not shake off the feeling that something was watching me. I continued typing and listening to the speech, but every so often, I glanced over my shoulder and at the bedroom door behind me, half expecting someone to be standing there if I turn enough times.

Type type type.

Turn type turn.

Turn turn turn.

I could not avoid looking behind me anymore. I knew something was watching me, but I didn't know what. My window blinds were shut, so it couldn't be that. Whatever it was, I knew it was behind me. But where... where?

I stopped listening to the speech recording. I took off my headphones. And I turned completely around.

There was nobody there. Nobody behind me. Nobody in the doorway, or in the corner of my room. No shadows to hide in, my entire room was brightly lit.

That's when I saw it. As soon as I saw it, my blood froze. My skin turned cold as ice and rough with the pattern of goosebumps surrounding every inch of my flesh. It was behind me. That I got right. But I was looking in the wrong places.

Because at the top of my wall, behind a grated air vent, were a two large eyes staring right at me. A mile-long grin, showing of its sharp, yellowed teeth.





Himchan Miracle Story

"Bobby..." Bobby's father paused and exhaled, trying to keep from turning into an emotional trainwreck. "We brought you here today to talk about your..." he coughed. "Your problem."

"Dad, how many times I gotta go over this with you? Ain't nothing wrong with me!" Bobby protested. He slung his white headphones over his shoulder and let his earbuds droop in front of him. His dad put his hand on Bobby's shoulder.

"Son... you listen to too much rap. And your mother and I... we're scared that it might cause developmental problems and speech impediments."

"Daaaaaaaaaad!" Bobby whined. "Ain't nothin!" Promise!"

"No, son," his dad said sternly. "It's becoming a huge problem, I mean just look at you!" Bobby looked down at the clothes he wore. For a top, he wore a New York Knicks jersey three sizes too big. He wore large cargo pants that sank to his ankles and bright purple boxers that reached past his knees. He wore large basketball shoes that looked fresh out of the box and a snapback with a golden sticker on the hat's brim.

"Dad, this is who I is! You ain't the boss of me!" Bobby whined. "Know what, I don't need this. Bobby OUT." He put on his Venetian glasses, stuck his headphones into his ears, and started walking away.

"Bobby! Bobby get over here!" His dad whined. But Bobby didn't listen. He kept walking, bobbing his head to the rhythmic beats of Ser Pizzy.

That is, until the dense clouds in the sky parted over Bobby's head. A spotlight of crisp, golden light bathed Bobby an amber color as the hums of an angelic choir rang through the air. Bobby looked around him as Himchan fell from the sky, wearing a toga as white and pure as divine hands could make clothing. Bobby's dad watched in awe. Then, Bobby quickly started screaming as divine radiation singed his eyes off.

"BOBBY," Himchan's omniscient voice boomed through the mortal plain. "YOU HAVE SINNED WITH THE TEMPTATION OF THE STREETS. NOW I AM HEAR AS YOUR SALVATION."

Bobby wanted to run. But he was frozen in place from divine intervention. Himchan laid a single holy finger on the brim of his snapback and immediately, sparkles engulfed Bobby.

"FEEL THE PURIFICATION, BOBBY. FEEL IT." Bobby closed his eyes and spread his hands out, absorbing every speck of Himchan's gifts. Slowly, the sparkles grew more and more dense, until Bobby was invisible behind a huge cloud of sparkles.

When the sparkles disappeared, all that was left of Bobby were bones. Bones and his snapback.





Hotel Apocalypse

You never really know how you're gonna die. I mean, you probably think about it occasionally, but you never really know when you're gonna die.

I've thought about dying a lot. I've always wanted to die when I'm old, surrounded by family and friends, like most people. Something calm and smooth, nothing sudden like getting shot or falling off a building. So when the weatherman announced that hotels would fall out of the sky and lead to the extinction of the human race, I was pretty bummed out.

I thought it was a joke, at first. Most people did, even though the weatherman killed himself on national television after he delivered the news. Then, news reports flooded in about Motel Sixes crushing people, hitting buildings, and charging low rates all over the world. Nobody really panicked at first, since it was only hitting LDCs like Kenya, Iran, Chile. But when a Best Western smashed into the Eiffel Tower, killing six Americans and 4,000 French people, the President finally called a state of emergency and declared a "war on extinction."

As if the war on extinction could change the fact that hotels were falling from outer space and killing millions of people. Scientists couldn't even explain how the hotels got there, where they came from, or why they attacked us. They kinda... just appear in the edge of the troposphere.

Regardless of their origin, these Hilton Hotels and Mariott Suites are causing widespread panic and death. And me? Well, I'm just living my normal, average, mid-apocalyptic life.





I Gotta Feeling

Fernando stared at the pieces of paper sitting on the desk in front of him. It was an essay prompt, which asked Fernando to analyze the lyrical meaning of "I Gotta Feeling" by the Black Eyed Peas. Another had the lyrics of the actual song printed on it. The last piece was a blank lined piece of paper, reserved for his essay.

He had been sitting at his desk for hours, trying to analyze every word, autotuned lyric, stuttered consonant, and repeated day of the week in the song, but Fernando just could not come up with any deeper meaning.

He had dented his desk with his forehead out of anger. But no amount of slamming, facepalming, or praying would help him. There was no perceivable depth in the song. Yet his classically trained lyrical coach with a Master's degree in English composition had assigned the song for analysis?

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!" Fernando screamed in vain. "WHAT DOES IT ALL MEAN?!" His mind could not comprehend why the Black Eyed Peas feel that it'll be a good night, or why "Saturday" was repeated twice in the song and every other day of the week was only mentioned once. The blood vessels in his neck enlarged with the ferocity of his thinking.

"WHY WOULD THEY REPEAT 'LET'S DO IT' SO MANY TIMES?!" He screamed at the papers, as if expecting a response or maybe divine intervention. Why would they feel the need to use a Jewish good luck phrase on someone that only has to "fill up [their] cup?!

Fernando couldn't take it. He snapped from the pressure of incomprehension. He opened his window of his college dorm on the 13th floor.

And he jumped.





Joker&Bane: Friends4lyfe

Joker took a bite out of the biscuit in front of him as he finished his story. Bane sipped some tea through a specialized mouth tube in his anti-asthma mask. Clumsily, he spilled a few drops onto the tabletop.

"Yeah. Sounds like classic Penguin," Bane replied. He wasn't really paying attention to the Joker's story.

"Tell me about it. So how's the wife doing?" Joker asked. His tone sounded sarcastic, but in reality, Joker always talked this way.

"She's fine. Never was the same after the fatal truck accident though." Bane sipped from his tea.

"Yeah, I can imagine."

An awkward pause. Joker tapped his fingers on the table and glanced around the tiny streetside cafe that they were in. Bane exhaled audibly. His eyes roamed the ceiling, then the ground, then the ceiling again. He avoided eye contact with Joker.

"So..." Joker started, though he didn't have anything to finish that sentence.

"Yeah..." Bane couldn't think of anything either.

The waitress walked by. "More tea, gentlemen?"

"Um, yes! Please," the Joker said quickly, thankful for the brief moment of non-awkwardness. Bane also nodded as the waitress poured tea onto their cups before briskly walking away.

"So how's Harley?" Bane asked.

"She's... she's good," Joker said. "Just fixed up her engine and now she drives like a charm. The wife's doing pretty okay too." The Joker gave out a forced cackle at the joke he gave, trying to spur a reaction from the faceless Bane. Bane just gave a single half-chuckle.

"Heheheeeeeeeeee...." Joker's laugh soon died down. He sighed. "This is gonna be a long, long day."





Mecha-Hitler 2.0: The Infinity Reich

"Keep firing!" Commander Lincoln II shouted at the Neo-Allied forces, who didn't hear him over the roars of lasers spraying through the battlefield, singeing the terrain of New Moscow. One after another, the Neo-Allied space marines dropped like flies as the Infinity Reich's gravitron lasers pierced through their artificial organs. But for every Neo-Allied space marine that died, CyberStalin's cloning machine immediately sent out two more to the battlegrounds.

"Our Carbanium-Hexium alloy armour isn't holding up against the Infinty Reich's lasers!" Captain Kennedy screamed to Commander Lincoln II. "I thought this stuff was photon proof!"

"It is!" Commander Lincoln II barked back. Kennedy stood up briefly an fired a few photon lasers at the Infinity Reich before crouching back down to avoid the hellish barrage of fire red lasers that the Reich fired back. "But they aren't photons, they're gravitron lasers! Way more potent, I don't know how the hell they got them!"

The roars of the lasers whistled through the air. "Didn't CyberStalin develop the gravitron lasers? You think he's in league with the Infinity Reich?" Kennedy yelled at Lincoln.

"Stop talking nonsense, Kennedy!" Lincoln shouted. He unloaded a few photon lasers into the Infinity Reich's clone army. "CyberStalin isn't the sanest of our bunch, but now way he'd stoop so low to betray us for Hiroboto and Bionussolini!"

A sickening hiss! Suddenly, Commander Lincoln II fell to the ground, dead from a gravitron laser piercing his skull and instantly vaporizing his bionic brain. In horror, Kennedy looked down at the body of his comrade, then looked downfield, toward the enemy lines. And he gasped in horror.

In the distance stood Mecha-Hitler 2.0. The unintentional byproduct of "Projekt: THUNDERSTREICH" and the dreaded juggernaut of the First Great Intergalactic War has returned among the lines of the Infinity Reich. A massive, MASSIVE warrior with an artificial intelligence as smart as Einstein 6 and as cold as the Mithric-Colosside metal that it was made out of. Its bosonic laser cannons were pinpoint accurate up to sixteen miles away and it was damn near indestructible. The last person to ever kill a Mecha-Hitler was High General Washington, who won the Galactic Applause Award.

But High General Washington was no longer with us. And with interdimensional/temporal travel no longer a legal option due to the Prionic Nebula Treaty, never again will High General Washington be able to aid us.

"May Deius have mercy on us," Kennedy whispered. He sprinted towards Mecha-Hitler 2.0.





Megan's Adventure

"Aiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!" The citizens of Megopolis screamed as the Mecha King Ghidorah ravaged the city. Megan, hearing this distress call, grabbed her two-handed Hello Kitty battleaxe, pointed two fingers to her forehead...

And warped to the side of Mecha King Ghidorah! The horrific, three headed draconic monstrosity tore apart a building as if it were nothing, but Megan was unwavering to the beast sixty times her size.

"YOU DIE NOW," she screamed. Just seeing Megan float in the sky instantly calmed the citizens down, who rallied their support briefly before being exterminated by Mecha King Ghidorah's halitosis beam.

Quickly, Megan looked down at the recently deceased citizens and cried a single heroic tear of mourning. Then, she immediately turned to face MKG, who roared a roar audible from planets away. His nemesis had arrived.

Megan swung her mighty greataxe at the neck of the beast, but it barely made a scratch on MKG's massive iron neck. MKG retaliated by spinning like a helicopter, using the two secondary heads around him as flails to try and swat away Megan. Megan got hit by a neck and flew straight into a building, leaving a huge crater where she impacted!

Angry, she planted her feet on the skyscraper's wall and launched herself into MKG. MKG screamed at Megan, mouth agape as she transferred all the momentum behind her launch into her axe, swinging it and cleaving MKG's central head in two. The other two heads shrieked in pain, but they soon died. The central head held the sole brain of the monster, and the entire mass quickly died with its destruction!

MKG's corpse fell to the earth. Megan slowly descended beside her fallen enemy, slinging her greataxe over her shoulders.

"Paranormal activity," she heroically said.





Mint Chocolate Sushi

"...What the hell is that?" Daniel looked in disgust at the green-white tray his friend was eating from.

"Mint chocolate mixed with sushi," Anna replied. "It's actually really good." She took her chopsticks and ate a piece of green and brown-colored sushi.

"Looks gross," Daniel replied. Immediately, Anna slammed her fist into the table, jolting Daniel. He glanced at her and noticed the anger-filled expression that instantly appeared on her face. Then, just as quickly as her anger had appeared, it disappeared and she smiled calmly again, loosening her fist and returning to eating her mint chocolate sushi.

Anna cleared her throat. "You should try it. I mean who knows, maybe you'll like it!"

"I doubt it. I'd probably throw up," Daniel said, slightly intimidated by Anna's sudden burst of anger. "Anyway, I gotta go do... homework or something." He stood up and briskly walked away while Anna waved goodbye, chopsticks in her hand.

That night, Daniel slept, wondering why Anna was so angry about the mint chocolate sushi.



"Daniel..." a voice called out to him in the middle of the night. "Wake up, Daniel." Slowly, Daniel's eyes cracked open.

As his groggy vision cleared, he saw Anna, standing at the foot of his desk, holding a sledgehammer. His wrists and ankles were bound to his bedposts with rope, and he was lying face up on his back, spreadeagle, still in his pajamas.

"What the?!" Daniel screamed. "What the hell are you doing to me, Anna?!" Anna didn't reply. She just paced in Daniel's bedroom, holding the sledgehammer with two hands.

"You know, there's two things that really tick me off..." Anna muttered. Her footsteps fell heavy on Daniel's wooden floor. "English homework, and..." she stopped pacing and stood directly in front of the foot of Daniel's bed.

"People who hate things that they haven't tried yet." She said ominously.

Daniel struggled to break free from the ropes. "YOU'RE CRAZY! WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?!"

Crack! Anna lifted the sledgehammer above her head and sent the striking end of it into Daniel's right knee, breaking his kneecap. He shrieked in pain as Anna calmly set the hammer down on the table and picked up the mint chocolate sushi beside her.

"Open wide." She picked up a piece of mint chocolate sushi and brought it over Daniel's mouth.

"NO. IT'S DISGUSTING AND YOU'RE INSANE," Daniel yelled. Anna replied by pressing her elbow down on Daniel's broken knee. He wailed in pain while Anna stared calmly at him, eyes unwavering as if she'd done this before.

"STOP STOP PLEA-" Daniel howled, but was interrupted when Anna put a piece of mint chocolate sushi in his mouth. In tears, with no other option but to comply, he chewed the mint chocolate sushi.

He swallowed, then sniffled. "It's..." Another sniffle. "It's actually not that bad."





Mushroom Soup

"Sensei Nguyen! Sensei Nguyen!" The crowd of reporters outside of Sofa King Soup screamed. This was the first time Sensei Nguyen had done a public interview and every news station in East Asia wanted to know more about the man who made the most delicious mushroom soup in the universe.

Sensei Nguyen laughed and stroked his impressive white beard. "Settle down, grasshoppers. You will all get an opportunity to ask." He smiled a toothless smile. "You there, in the red shirt." He pointed a bony, wrinkled finger at Ms. Hikari.

She smiled, and asked the question everyone had on their minds. "Can you tell us what exactly makes Sofa King Soup so delicious?" Instantly, the crowd of reporters uproared, also wanting to know the answer.

Sensei Nguyen chuckled. "The secret to my soup is simple." The journalists grew silent, eager to hear the secret to Sensei Nguyen's success.

He inhaled with a smile. "Noodles, broth, and the most important ingredient of them all... happiness." He bowed down, and walked back into the restaurant. The journalists panicked and started firing questions at Sensei Nguyen.

"How much money do you make annually, Sensei Nguyen?!"

"Sensei Nguyen, where do you grow your ingredients?!"

"Have you heard of the mass disappearance of small male children, Sensei Nguyen?!"

But the questions were in vain. Sensei Nguyen didn't ask any more questions and quickly returned behind the doors of his restaurant, which the rest of the public was strictly forbidden from entering. Sensei Nguyen had said on multiple occasions that if any human besides him were to look into the kitchen, he would close the shop for good. No exceptions.

But Ms. Hikari was determined to be the first journalist to discover the true secret of the Sofa King Soup.



Ms. Hikari entered the restaurant, like any other customer would. She ordered the world famous mushroom soup, which was the only thing on their menu, and sat down at a table beside the doors to the kitchen. She thought to herself how funny it was that the secret behind Asia's single most valuable product wasn't locked behind a massive bulletproof safe, but behind wooden double doors.

After a few minutes, a waiter placed a bowl of mushroom soup on Ms. Hikari's table. As with every other bowl served by the restaurant, the white soup was cooked to perfection. Fresh out of the cooking pot, the soup still steamed from its heat. Seasoned with various green herbs and garnished with a slice of mushroom sitting in its center, the thick soup smelled just as heavenly as it looked.

Ms. Hikari ate one spoonful of the soup and fell into utter bliss. The deliciousness of the soup was unquantifiable. Truly, it was a taste universally admired, as shown in the happy faces of Sofa King Soup's millions of monthly customers.

As she ate more and more of her soup, the mystery of the soup filled more and more of her mind and before long, her stomach was stuffed to bursting and her thoughts were full of curiosity. No, not curiosity. Desire. She had to know what was in this soup that made it so delicious.

And she knew that all it would take to find out were three steps towards two double doors. A push. It was that simple. But at the grave, grave cost of losing Sofa King Soup permanently.

The turmoil in her mind tore away at her psyche. On one hemisphere of her mind, she desperately wanted to know what was in the soup. But on the other side, she knew the consequences. She could stand up and leave right now. Or she could push the doors open. Leave, push, leave, push, the two halves of her mind fought back and forth in fruitless debate.

Hikari screamed at the top of her lungs and grabbed her skull, startling the other customers around her and bringing the restaurant's conversation to a dead halt. "I HAVE TO KNOW!" She stood up and sprinted towards the door, forcing it open as the other patrons screamed in disapproval! Several even got out of their seats and ran after her.

Her eyes widened at what she saw. Suddenly, the delicious taste of soup in her mouth turned bitter, and unbearable and she almost vomited. She knew that the sight would forever be scarred into her psyche.

In front of a large pot stood Sensei Nguyen. He held the severed head of an Asian boy above the pot. The blood from the stump of his neck dripped slowly into the soup. The child's face had a frozen expression. Eyes wide open in pure terror, she knew his last moments were filled with pain.

Sensei Nguyen's famous Sofa King Soup... was made out of people.





Naruto

Naruto was bleeding from his lips, recovering from the punch Sasuke delivered to his face.

Sasuke smiled an evil smile. "Now, Naruto. Are you prepared to give up the secret to the Fast Movement Ultra Swag Fire Jutsu?

Naruto's eyes widened. That's what he was after all along! Naruto projected his thoughts at the television screen.

"Never!" Naruto screamed at Sasuke.

"Well, it looks like you'll need a bit more convincing then!" Sasuke flailed his arms chaotically, ending with a double peace sign and a duckface. Suddenly, copious amounts of chi energy started gravitating around Sasuke.

Oh no! Naruto thought, Could... could he be trying the forbidden... No! He can't! It's illegal!

Sasuke grunted as the chi energy entered every pore in his skin. He gave off an explosive scream.

"ANIME CROSSOVER JUTSUUUUUU!" He yelled as his hair turned into bright yellow stalagmites, as if Mount Everest had just spontaneously grown on the top of his head.

"NO, SASUKE! IT'S... IT'S IMMORAL!" Naruto screamed. But it was already too late. Sasuke had already reached Super Saiyan II.

"If you had just given me the sign language for the jutsu, this wouldn't have been necessary," Sasuke smirked.

"BUT YOU'LL RIP A HOLE IN THE ANIME-MANGA CONTINUUM!" Naruto barked back. He swept his arm in a dramatic motion to emphasize his point, but was surprised to find that a Duel Disk had appeared around it when he brought it back.

"I DON'T CARE. JUST GIVE ME THE JUTSU!" Sasuke teleported to Naruto's side and threw a Super Saiyan punch at his head, which was immediately blocked by a giant holographic fist that appeared out of the ground! Suddenly, Sasuke recoiled, and burrowed into the ground with explosive force!

"By attacking me directly, you activated my trap card, Mystical Arm of Shenron!" Naruto screamed as if it was second nature. "When a monster attacks me directly, all damage is negated and half of the damage that should have been inflicted on me instead gets transferred to the life points of the attacker! Plus, it summons effing SHENRON."

The sunny, blue, cloudless skies of Narutoland suddenly gave way to dark, gray stormclouds. A patch of daylight shone through the clouds, which emanated crepuscular rays. Through this spot of sunlight, the mighty green Shenron appeared, weaving through the sky like an eel swimming through a vast nighttime ocean. He hovered in front of Naruto and Sasuke!

"I have come to grant you one wish. What shall it be?" Shenron bellowed with a voice that sounded like a thousand voices.

Naruto started. "I wish for-"

"I WISH FOR A LEVEL 100 SHADOW LUGIA EX AND A SHINY PONYTA." Sasuke interrupted, still half-buried in the ground.

"Wish granted," Shenron bellowed and he shot up into the air. A single lightning bolt struck the Earth in front of Naruto and Sasuke and instantaneously, the storm clouds disappeared and the bright blue skies of Narutoville returned. The lightning bolt left a crater the size of a house in the field where Naruto and Sasuke were fighting. In the middle of the field stood a large, black colored Lugia, which dwarfed the flaming horse next to it. But it was a horse burning with blue fire, so there's that.

"LUGIA!" Sasuke commanded as he tore himself out of the earth, "USE AEROBLAST!"

Lugia shrieked and fired hurricane-speed winds at Naruto! The aeroblast also accidentally picked up the Shiny Ponyta, extinguishing its flame and killing it instantaneously. Not making it faint. Killing it.

Naruto flew back and rolled painfully on the ground. Sasuke smirked and released his Super Saiyan powers. "Ready to shell out, Naruto?"

Naruto slouched forward, exhausted. But he smiled.

"No. Matter of fact, I'm just getting started." Naruto's words wiped the smile from Sasuke's face.

Naruto stood up. He looked at the Duel Disk connected to his right arm. He opened his mouth, and spoke a single word. A single word, which made Sasuke tremble in fear, a word which made Shenron soil his dragon pants, a word that made the shiny Ponyta twitch as a post-mortem reflex.

"Bankai."

Suddenly, his Duel Disk was engulfed with a bright red light! Sasuke watched in awe as the Duel Disk glowed brighter and brighter, until the luminance of the Duel Disk was blinding! Sasuke averted his eyes while Naruto cackled manically!

The light dimmed. Sasuke turned back around.

The dead Ponyta twitched.

The Duel Disk had transformed into a Colossal Titan, with blue colored muscle and white trim! The behemoth had a red downward pointing triangle on each of its joints, and one underneath each of its eyes.

Sasuke nearly crapped his pants. But he recollected himself. He took a few deep breaths, then screamed to show the amount of power coursing through his veins.

"Switch to three-dimensional maneuver!" Sasuke yelled and fired grappling hooks into the Titan's skin!

"Let him have it, Koorogi!" Naruto screamed and pointed to Sasuke!

But Naruto didn't have enough badges to train the Colossal Titan. The titan picked up the screaming Sasuke and bit his face off in one smooth motion. He also did the same to Naruto, only Naruto kicked and screamed more.

And for good measure, the Colossal Titan stepped on the dead Ponyta. He became great friends with the level 100 Shadow Lugia EX.





Only You Can Prevent Wildfires

The three teenagers laughed hearty laughs around their amber campfire. The cold wilderness wind blew through the group as their laughter echoed through a vast field of pine trees.

"Okay, guys, it's like... 4 AM now, I think I'm gonna hit the hay," Tyler said as he stood up.

"Psh. Pussy," Jack responded jokingly. He and David also stood up.

"So we still gonna hunt for wombats tomorrow morning?" Tyler asked.

"You know it," Jack replied, making a clicking noise with his mouth and pointed a finger gun at Tyler. "Night, ladies," he said as he retreated to his tent.

"Night," the other two replied. They both walked to their tents. Tyler unzipped the zipper on his tent door and was looking forward to taking a nice, long rest on his inflatable mattress. He was eager to dream about hunting in the beautiful Alaskan wilderness and couldn't wait for tomorrow, where he and his friends would ride their mechanical horses and hunt wild wombats in the great outdoors.

But as Tyler stepped into his tent, a colossal CGI grizzly bear wearing a campaign hat popped its head outside of it! It's Smokey Bear!

Tyler fell back, startled from Smokey Bear's sudden appearance. "WHAT THE HELL?! WHAT THE HELL WHAT THE HELL WHAT THE HELL?!" The racket he made managed to drag Jack and David out of their tents, but Smokey Bear immediately pulled out his Beretta and shot the two in the face with cold, merciless precision.

Smokey Bear holstered his gun. "Hunting for wombats wouldn't be very fun in a burning forest, would it, Tyler?" Smokey Bear bellowed. His voice was deep and throaty and sounded like a mixture of James Earl Jones and the black guy in the Allstate commercials. Tyler was frozen in sheer, pants-shitting fear, both from the sight of his dead friends and the gargantuan mammalian abomination standing in front of him.

Smokey stood up, grabbed Tyler by his hairs, and dragged him back to the campfire. Tyler screamed in pain as Smokey's bear claws dug into his scalp. "Don't forget to put out your fires when you're done with them. Or else they might put you out," Smokey chanted mystically. With a single graceful motion, he stomped his massive foot down on the fire, extinguishing it in an instant.

Smokey grabbed Tyler by his hair again and lifted him a full two feet into the air. The massive, 11-foot bear hung Tyler's face right in front of his snout.

"Only you can prevent wildfires," he roared directly into Tyler's eyes, along with a few particles of spit, which quickly mixed with Tyler's horror-tears. Then, Smokey turned around and threw Tyler into his tent with astounding accuracy.

Tyler did not sleep that night.





Oscar

"And the Oscar for 'Best Written Non-Sexualized Supporting Actress Personality' goes to..." Justin Timberlake panted into the microphone. Andy nervously bounced in his seat. He was one of two nominees and he was sweating from anxiety. Was he about to win his first Oscar?

Justin Timberlake tore open the envelope. "Oh god..." he said under his breath. "Andy Wasillakowski!" Timberlake said unenthusiastically.

"HELL YEAH!" Andy screamed as he stood up. Nobody around him clapped. He faced Kenny (the other nominee), made a circle with his index and thumb, brought the shape down to his groin, and humped it repeatedly. "SUCK MY DICK, KENNY. EAT SHIT," he screamed. Kenny, who was only seven years old, started sobbing.

Because the Oscars were live, the entirety of America saw and heard what Andy said. But Andy didn't care. He wanted to relish in his fame.

He sprinted down the steps toward the stage, slapping the back of James Franco's head on his way, sending James Franco's toupée flying into the people who sat in front of him. James Franco, who was only seven years old mentally, also started sobbing.

Andy stepped foot on the stage and snatched the microphone out of Justin Timberlake's hands. "WOOOOOOOOO!" He screamed into the mic. He tapped it a few times with the palm of his hand, saying "Is... is this on?" as he did so. The crowd in front of him nodded in displeasure.

He cleared his throat. "About time I've started getting recognized for my work. I knew from the start that I would win this because my movie's awesome, and Kenny sucks balls and should kill himself." In a distant corner of the venue, Kenny's wails could be heard.

"So, since I knew I was gonna win, I decided to write out exactly what I needed to say in thirty or so seconds on this here piece of paper." He pulled out a piece of lined paper from his inner jacket pocket, then cleared his throat again.

"Thanks a bunch to that nerdy old Liam McClencherton, AKA Stinky Pits, for letting me cheat off his tests in film school and for being a good sport about all the nutshots and the Sharpie tattoos drawn on his face while he slept, and the superglue on his pubes. Thanks a bunch, Liam!" The crowd was appalled, except for Seth MacFarlane, who burst a blood vessel from laughing.

"Mom, dad, thanks for giving me money for film school, even though I dropped out Sophomore year and used the rest of my tuition money to support my heroin addiction. No thanks to Maria Masterston, who refused to go with me to prom. I hope nobody finds out you have every STD known to mankind-I mean, oops!" he said sarcastically. At this point, the entire crowd wanted Andy dead. Gary Oldman actually whipped out his pistol and aimed it at Andy, but Christopher Nolan stopped him at the last minute.

"Jordan, you still owe me five bucks, you two-faced bastard. Nicole, I think this Oscar right here is plenty enough reason to dump your scumbag boyfriend and come have sex with me." At this point, Nolan regretted saving him and gave the gun back to Gary Oldman. However, it was in vain, as Gary Oldman had already fainted from Andy's rudeness. Thankfully, Andy only had ten seconds of speech left to give.

Andy's mouth went to maximum overdrive. "9/11 was an inside job, Hitler did nothing wrong, I think the civil rights movement was a mistake, women should be viewed as objects, I occasionally steal from charity collection boxes, eugenics is a wonderful idea. Good night, everyone!"

Everyone was furious. Several gunshots were fired at Andy, but Andy dodged all of their bullets and tap danced off-stage. He used his Oscar as a pretend cane and his tap dance shoes made an obnoxious "click clack" noise as he went behind the curtains and disappeared. The uproar of the crowd drowned out the lovely orchestral music they play at the end of every speech.

Andy quickly ran out of the venue and dove into the taxicab waiting for him outside. He took off the realistic, Mission-Impossible-style rubber mask on his face and revealed his true identity as Matt, the guy that Andy pissed off in 5th grade.

Matt cackled as he looked at the mask in his hands. "Revenge is a dish best served cold, Andy. Hope stealing my crayons was worth PUBLIC HUMILIATION!"

Matt drove away, throwing the mask out of the cab's window.





Paper Trails

[TO COME LATER. Dang it, person who sent in this title, how'd you know I've been planning a romance revolving around origami cranes? Swear, that's the EXACT title I had in mind for the story I've been planning for awhile, so you're gonna have to wait a bit too. That's what you get for being a psychic.]





Samuri the Last

"Awwwwwwww," the crowd of teenage girls swooned over the adorable pomeranian puppy. "It's so cute I could just pinch its tiny white cheeks!" One of them exclaimed.

"I wish I could own a million of them, skin them, and use their fur as the wallpaper for my room!" Another squeed.

"D'aww, I could just brutally maim it!" Yet another admired. Meanwhile, the pomeranian had its own ulterior, murderous intentions.

"Vermin," the pomeranian thought. "Disgusting, bipedal vermin. Don't these insects know that they're talking to Samuri, the last of the great Gravikin race?" Inside the pomeranian's eyes were violent motives. And a parasite buried in its brain, controlling its every thought and movement. Though Samuri was a tiny, tiny parasite that could only take over pomeranian minds, it had evil, EVIL schemes.

"STOP PRAISING ME AND FEAR ME," Samuri ordered. But his pomeranian host simply yipped, much to the women's amusement.

"AWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!" The crowd squealed. A few brought their arms close to their bodies and their fists to their lips, bouncing up and down in glee like their feet were being shot at.

"NO! STOP!" Samuri screamed. But it was futile. Everything he wanted to say got translated into an adorable, adorable bark. Samuri pounded his parasite fist into a fissure in the pomeranian's brain, causing its right eyeball to twitch briefly. "VERBALIZED COMMANDS DON'T SEEM TO BE WORKING. TIME TO GO PAVLOV."

As one of the girls reached her hand to pet the pomeranian, Samuri bit the tip of the girl's finger and she shrieked and jumped back! The other girls instantly crowded around the poor, bitten girl's finger, cooing over the intense pain she must be going through. As if out of thin air, the CIA, FBI, Homeland Security, the NSA, PETA, the NFL, and the Boy Scouts of America all appeared and crowded around the girl's finger, checking for any major damage.

"Owwwwwwwwwwwww!" The girl moaned as she held her finger. Slowly, a minuscule drop of blood seeped out of the tip of her finger.

"THERE'S BLOOD!" A CIA agent declared.

Immediate chaos began. FBI agents called in their helicopters for backup. Homeland Security whipped out their tasers and pushed through the crowd, trying to get to the dog. The NSA did nothing and kept listening to random conversations. PETA immediately got to work on a flash game where the evil teenage girls were cruelly abusing the poor pomeranian. The NFL blamed Michael Vick for the incident and planned to use the inevitable subsequent press coverage to turn media attention away from how badly the Chargers are sucking. The Boy Scouts of America immediately kicked Michael out of their organization, then wrote the details down, thinking it'd make a pretty good ghost story.

"EUTHANIZE!" Someone in the crowd shouted.

"YEAH! YOU TAN EYES!" Another blindly repeated and before long, the entire mob wanted Samuri dead.

Homeland Security delivered on that request by tasing the poor animal repeatedly until it died from repeated muscle convulsions.





Story Title

AAAAAAAAAGH, he screamed in his mind, I have a day until I have to submit a new story, and I have ABSOLUTELY NO FRICKING IDEA WHAT TO WRITE!

The author flipped over his writing desk in frustration. Then, he set it back upright, sat down in front of it, and continued staring at a blank piece of paper.

Focus, you creative bastard, focus. He pounded his fist into the desk, leaving a bowl-shaped dent on the spot he impacted. He pretended to not be fazed by the pain. But three seconds later, a painful expression appeared on his face. A tear rolled down his right cheek and he shook his hand, trying to wave away the pain.

"GOD FLACKING DAMMIIIIIIIIIIIIT!" He screamed at the ceiling of his apartment. "GIVE ME IDEAAAAAAAAAAAAS!"

A muffled thudding noise from upstairs rocked the walls of the author's room. "Shut up, I'm trying to use the Internet!" the voice above him screamed.

And the lightbulb on the author's head went off. The Internet... GENIUS. Why didn't I think of it before?!

And so, the author asked for story ideas online, shamelessly profiting off ideas he himself did not come up with. And he felt guilt-free about it.





Superman Loves the Sun

"Sun..." Superman said to the gigantic flaming orb of hydrogen floating in space. "I feel like you're the only one that understands me."

The sun sat silent, sitting in space. Superman leaned in closer.

"Today, Lois Lane broke up with me. And... and it felt like a Krypton icepick stabbed my heart. You get what I'm saying?"

The sun said nothing. Superman exhaled sadly.

"I just... I really loved her, you know... or at least, I thought I did." Superman flew close to the sun's surface. He flew through solar prominences and ran his hand through the sun's burning surface.

"It's... strange. Like I feel like I hate her for ending it, but at the same time I know I still love her..." Superman sniffled. He would have cried, but his tears instantly vaporized in these temperatures. "Do you ever feel that way, sun?"

The sun belched out heat and photons in reply. "Yeah, I knew you have." Superman sat on the sun's surface for a bit.

"How... how's your romance life going, sun? Any success?" The sun continued sustaining life on Earth, without giving a reply for Superman.

"Yeah, I know how you feel." Superman looked away from the sun and into other stars in space. He tapped his hand on the sun's surface and thought about what he was about to say next.

"Sun... I think..." Superman laughed nervously. "I think I love you."

The sun didn't know how to react to this. But it sure did know how to react to nuclear fusion.

Superman blushed. "You... you think so too?!" Superman laughed "I knew it, I knew you loved me back!" Superman kissed the surface of the sun. He gently rubbed the surface of the sun, then...



Then Ivan woke up from his dream with slightly damp sheets.





Tales from the Mushroom Forest

Oh hey. You actually read this far. Either that, or you submitted this title. Either way, you're a very special person and I'd like to thank you for taking the time to read these stories.

I'm not really gonna be writing a story for this title, I'm just gonna write more in-depth thoughts on the thing as a whole. Sort of like a half author's note, half Easter egg. So anyway, I worked on this post on and off for about... three weeks? I know I promised I'd get it done in less than a week, but these were some HARD stories to write because half of them I didn't have the SLIGHTEST CLUE what to write about. I mean, just the idea for "Hi" took me a LONG TIME to come up with. Don't even get me started on "Fladeboe."

Oh. Speaking of "Fladeboe," first person to crack the cipher wins! Yes, it's an actual story and no, it's not just a bunch of gibberish. So anyway, translate the entire paragraph and type what you think it means in the comments, first one to get it right wins a shoutout or something. Heck, if you go to my school, you might even win something with actual money value. Maybe. Don't get your hopes up. Here's a hint to get you started: "Fladeboe" means "Advisors" in the story.

Anyway, the rest of the stories. Hmm... what's worth mentioning... Oh yeah. "Mint Chocolate Sushi" is kinda based off "Misery." Sort of. If you squint. For "Naruto," I had absolutely NO IDEA what happens in Naruto, so I kinda just blended a bunch of anime that I actually knew about together and BAM. NARUTO. Shortest story by far is "Unrecognizable." "Only You Can Prevent Wildfires" was actually gonna be longer, but I ended up cutting it down to keep it concise. Initially, I planned on having Smokey Bear harass the group over a period of three days, first about obvious fire dangers like leaving the campfire burning at night and smoking in a forest, but later about trivial things, like starting their cars and cleaning their glasses (aim it carefully, because it might act like a magnifying glass and ignite nearby shrubbery!). Fact, I might write more about that later. Oh, and "Mushroom Soup" was obviously based off Soylent Green.

So uhh... yeah. That's about it. Hope you liked this Easter egg. It's 1:34 AM on October 14, 2013 and I just finished "(Untitled)." Hope you liked it!





Unrecognizable

"Status report, Dr. Kaufman?" Head Researcher Krotz asked the researcher who was peering down a microscope's eyepiece.

"The samples from the space lifeform testing is... unique. Have a look!" Dr. Kaufman replied. H.R. Krotz looked into the microscope.

"What do you think?" Dr. Kaufman asked. H.R. Krotz gasped.

"Why, I've never seen it before!"

"Indeed!"

"Why.... why I think it's..." Krotz lifted his head and did a hair flip towards the camera.

"Unrecognizable."

A laugh track plays as H.R. Krotz winks at the live studio audience. The writers of the pilot show get fired for laziness.





The Wonderful World of Wombats

Wombats. A species that is often the butt of jokes in the animal kingdom, it can owe this fact to its stubby legs, beaver-like mannerisms, and its lactose intolerance. Amateur zoologists often describe the wombat as "a beaver with its tail removed." But little do they know about the startling secrets hidden in the wonderful world of wombats.

Wombats are omnivores. However, as a defensive measure, wombats only eat plants, berries, and other fauna when directly observed by another non-human animal. But as shown in the recordings of the late Dr. Eisenberry Footenstein, wombats are actually incredibly predatory creatures. In a pinch, a wombat can sprint at over 95 miles per hour. In multiple occasions, a single wombat has been observed hunting down and killing an entire coalition of cheetahs purely for sport.

Wombats have insatiable appetites. Recently, zoos have opted against keeping wombats in captivity because a single wombat alone requires a minimum of 175 kilograms of meat a day. News reports of wombats breaching containment and eating humans, buffalo, baby seals, and hippos are not uncommon. Occasionally, wombats have also performed autocannibalism.

Wombats are very socially diverse creatures. Some prefer to hunt alone while others hunt in packs. While the vast majority of wombats are land-based hunters, multiple packs of underwater wombats have also been observed. These rarer, aquatic wombats are known to consume coral reefs, sunken ships, great white sharks, and even entire whales. As these aquatic wombats require much more nourishment to function in the calorie-demanding environment of the ocean, rarely do they leave even the bones of an animal uneaten. In a handful of instances, a pack of wombats capable of supersonic flight have also been observed.

Although wombats were initially indigenous to Australia, they can now be found in every part of the globe, and have steadily become more of a problem to the human race. Annually, more people die from wombat attacks than drunk driving, suicide, cancer, and lightning strikes combined. On average, 1.4 people die every minute due to wombat-related injury. This estimation jumps to a startling 26.9 people per minute around springtime, which is the wombat's mating season. The Guinness Book of World Records officially recognizes wombat mating season as quote "the most lethal thing to ever happen to mankind since Mecha-Hitler 2.0."

Wombats do not court with one partner for life. Not because they are cold, unloving animals nor because they fear commitment. When the female gives birth to a new baby wombat, the parents immediately fight to the death, competing for the baby wombat's favor. Baby wombats are incredibly difficult to impress. As such, the parents hold nothing back when fighting each other. The style of wombat combat seems to vary based on the couple, who seem to come up with a set of strict rules prior to the battle. Observed fights have included tackle competitions, tug-of-war, knife fights, bare-knuckle boxing, gladiatorial combat, mud wrestling, and even wet t-shirt competitions, with the baby wombat as the sole judge.

Yes, wombats are a very interesting species. Next time you see a wombat at your local zoo, remember to treat them kindly and with respect, as you would every other beautiful animal created by Mother Nature.

But especially the wombat. Because wombats never forget a face.





Author's Note: Oh man. I am SO SORRY this took forever to write, I didn't anticipate on it being SO DIFFICULT. I guess it's way harder to write than my names post because I actually have to make up every story, whereas for the names, I just had to remember things and write them out.

Obviously, since there's a TON of stories, I won't go into too much detail behind the though process of each one. When I started this post a little more than a month ago, I tried to write complete stories for each one. Then, as the titles kept flooding in, I figured out that if I wrote a full story on each piece, then I would DIE from overwork. So I opted to make most of these "cliffhanger" stories with no ending, kind of like the parts of the story you see before you click the "Read More" link at the bottom.

Again, so sorry that this took forever, everyone. I think I got burnt out about halfway through writing this, so I'm not nearly as proud as this entry as my names piece, but regardless, had some fun writing. Especially writing about wombats and cookie clicker, those were both great.

Lesson learned, though. If I do something like this in the future, I'm definitely putting in a submission limit OR I'll handpick my favorites so that I'm not stuck with a bunch of unwriteable stories.

OH. Huge thanks to Kayla, Angela, Brandon, Christina, Rhea, Ivan and everyone else I ended up asking for ideas on what to write for titles. They were HUGE lifesavers. This probably would've taken WAY longer had it not been for them.